


Rest Your Troubled Heart

by NETHERW4RT



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Reincarnation, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, also last three character tags are only mentioned briefly lol, just so we are all clear lol, not based off anything in the smp, oh hell yeah baby, smp “factions” are mentioned but nothing is canon, strictly platonic, they have a little talk about things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27928531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NETHERW4RT/pseuds/NETHERW4RT
Summary: “I don’t like being alone.”Tubbo presses his hands together in his lap and twirls his forefingers around each other until the world dulls around them. The wind rushes through his hair and he tugs his scarf up above his nose. “Why’s that?” His voice is muffled through the thick fabric.“I don’t know,” Fundy lies, remembering the searing feeling of the grass against his palms and the heavy air flooding his lungs.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Toby Smith | Tubbo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	Rest Your Troubled Heart

**Author's Note:**

> i just really want fundy to have someone there for him. i think fundy and tubbo should have a soft moment, as a treat :)

“I don’t like being alone.”

Tubbo presses his hands together in his lap and twirls his forefingers around each other until the world dulls around them. The wind rushes through his hair and he tugs his scarf up above his nose. “Why’s that?” His voice is muffled through the thick fabric.

“I don’t know,” Fundy lies, remembering the searing feeling of the grass against his palms and the heavy air flooding his lungs. He wishes that were the truth—that he could forget it all like his father had. Unfortunately, the universe had been all but kind to him. “I just don’t.”

Tubbo leaves him to his response, instead moving to scoot closer to Fundy on the broken log they were occupying. He notices the way the fox-boy shivers and tugs off his scarf then. “Here,” he says, holding it out. “It’s cold.”

”I’m alright,” Fundy says. He’s not. “It’s just cold.”

”Fundy,” Tubbo smiles and Fundy shifts, “take it.”

He does. The fabric is warm and soft to the touch; he slings it around his neck with ease, pulling it up over his mouth in a way similar to how the brunet had.

”Thank you.”

”Mhm.”

”Isn’t this Tommy’s?”

”It is,” Tubbo responds, smiling. “It’s a very pretty red color, don’t you think?”

Fundy tugs at it lightly and grumbles. “It’s alright.” His breath comes out in a wisp of dull white, vaguely reminding him of his own fragility. It’s...mildly upsetting. He feels much too similar to his own breath, carried along by the wind without a word and gone not too long after showing up.

”I’m on my last life,” the boy says out of nowhere, drawing his tongue across the bottom of his lip only to wipe off the wetness a moment later. The skin would be chapped by the end of the day if he kept that up. “It’s not as scary as you think, Fundy.”

”I never said I was scared,” Fundy says.

”I know, but everyone’s scared. Nobody says they are, but they are.”

Fundy scoffs. “You’re lying.” How could _everyone_ be afraid of dying? There are some who would _never_ die—some who have all the power and command in the world to keep themselves from dying. Some like Dream.

Dream is powerful. He’s commanding. He’s _immortal_. Nobody knows how many lives he has left—not even his most loyal companions. The most people know is that he is alive and he isn’t going to be dying anytime soon. Not if Dream has anything to say about it, at least.

”I’m not,” Tubbo cuts in and pulls Fundy away from his thoughts. He rests his hand against Fundy’s and it’s warm—it’s calming. It’s nice. “It’s certainly scary. Death always is, Fundy, but not as much as you think.”

”I’ve died before, Tubbo. I know how scary it is.”

Tubbo stills and frowns, leaning ever so slightly backwards but not releasing his hand. It’s nice. “Tell me about it,” he says.

Fundy takes a deep breath. “It was summer,” he starts, slowly turning his hand over so that the brunet could grasp it with more ease, “and it was hot. I don’t remember much. I was alone, in the middle of nowhere. It must’ve been the plains—I couldn’t see anything but blue. The painfully bright blue of the mid-morning sky. No one was there for me. Not you, not Tommy, not even my own father. Not even Wilbur.”

Tubbo gently squeezes Fundy’s palm and nods. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. It sounds genuine, but Fundy doesn’t know if that makes him hate it less or more. He doesn’t say anything more and Fundy drops his head, shoulders slouching down in rhythm.

”Tubbo,” he breathes, “am I all alone? It feels like I’m alone. Like I’m always the last choice.”

”Fundy,” Tubbo leans himself against the fox-boy’s side and lightly nudges his shoulder, “you’re just as important to everyone in L’manberg as we are to each other. It’s not a matter of who’s picked first or last.”

”It feels like it is.”

Tubbo squeezes Fundy’s hand again and for a moment he feels like crying. He doesn’t want to trust Tubbo’s words; it’s against his better judgement to trust _anyone_ with what he’s been through. But Tubbo is so caring and his words run deep through Fundy’s veins like they’re trying to take control of his entire body. It’s probably working.

He begins to cry and it’s terribly embarrassing. His cheeks burn, partially from the cold winds and partially from the salty tears sliding down his pale skin. Fundy shuts his eyes to avoid looking at Tubbo; he doesn’t want to be seen like this, but he makes no move to wipe them away. He simply sits there, trembling, and lets the tears fall.

Tubbo says nothing this time—he lets the silence speak for itself. His arms move from Fundy’s hand to instead wrap around the fox-boy’s torso and he hugs Fundy tight against him. It’s warm.

Then, when he feels that Fundy has relaxed in his arms, he whispers, “I’m sorry, Fundy. I love you, okay?”

Weakly, Fundy nods into the space between Tubbo’s neck and shoulder. “I love you too, Tubbo,” he chokes out, throat rough from crying. “Thank you.”


End file.
